


Chances Are

by Jo (jmathieson)



Series: Tangents and Intersections ~ Kink Bingo 2013 [43]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Community: kink_bingo, Established Relationship, Hypnotism, Ice Cream, M/M, Relationship Negotiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-31
Updated: 2013-08-31
Packaged: 2017-12-25 05:05:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,579
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/948951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/pseuds/Jo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil gets dosed with gas by a mad scientist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chances Are

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Bingo Round Six (2013) ~ Hypnotism / Mind Control

Clint stared at the dilapidated pick-up truck parked in the middle of Broadway, just west of Time Square. It had a bizarre assortment of bits of metal welded onto it, and had been inexpertly spray-painted gold. The NYPD had stopped it for a host of moving violations, not least of which was the cloud of green smoke being emitted from some sort of sparking contraption in the truck bed. 

When the cops who tried to ticket the driver sat down in the street and started singing "We are the World," the SWAT team had been called in. When the SWAT team's guns all turned into salt, SHIELD had been called in.

Phil Coulson was standing behind a barricade at 46th Street with a megaphone in his hand, trying to talk to the guy. Clint was up on some nearby scaffolding festooned with Broadway show posters, arrow nocked and bow drawn, ready to fire if the guy so much as twitched in Coulson's direction.

"Sir, if you would please just step out of the vehicle..."

Clint was getting the sound in stereo, Coulson's voice in his ear through the comms, and then the tinny rendition of the megaphone bouncing off buildings. 

"None of you has ever understood! But now you will. I've made it so you will!" The guy had some sort of PA system rigged, and his squeaky voice seemed to be coming out of a unicorn's head which was mounted on the front of the hood. 

Coulson dropped the megaphone and touched his earpiece. 

"Logging this one as a Class 7a. Any chance of getting a tranq dart into him, Barton?"

"Not until he gets out of the truck. If I fire through the window it'll bend the needle and the stuff won't inject." Class 7a was a mad scientist, which meant they were aiming for a non-lethal take-down if possible, because it often turned out that the mad scientist in question was actually quite brilliant once he or she got back on their meds. 

"Roger."

Phil lifted the megaphone to his mouth again.

"Sir, I want to understand, but I'd like to have this conversation face-to-face, so if you could just get out of the vehicle..."

Clint saw the man pull a lever and tensed. A large mechanical arm unfolded from the back of the truck and something that could only be described as an over-sized ray-gun was pointing down Broadway. Clint swapped his tranq-dart arrow for an exploding one, and aimed at the contraption.

"Sir, I'm sure we can work out whatever it is that you'd like to talk about, I'd just like us to do it face-to-face. Can we do that? Sir?"

A cone of pink smoke came shooting out of the 'ray gun' towards the barricades where Coulson was standing. "Everybody down!" Phil yelled, and Clint watched as Phil clutched at his throat and sagged, the megaphone dropping out of his fingers. Clint fired. A fireball was still shooting skywards as he leapt off the scaffolding and ran towards where Phil had collapsed, and was now writhing around on the street.

~~~~~

Clint spent the next two hours pacing the hallway outside SHIELD medical.

"Specialist Barton? The doctor would like to talk to you."

Clint stopped himself from asking the nurse if Phil was OK, stopped himself from running through the door, stopped himself from wrapping Phil in his arms when he saw him conscious and sitting up on a gurney. But he didn't stop himself from reaching out to cover one of Phil's hands with his own, and squeeze tight, before turning to the doctor.

"Agent Coulson is going to be fine. The gas he inhaled was a mild amphetamine-sodium pentothal analog with similarities to MDMA."

"He got dosed with truth serum and Ecstasy?"

"With something that has similar effects. The result is that he's in a highly suggestible state, similar to hypnosis. Agent Coulson, raise your right arm."

Phil's right arm shot up into the air as if he was a third-grader who knew the answer and was hoping the teacher would call on him. 

"Thank you Agent, you can put it back down now. The effects will wear off over the next four to six hours, and he'll be completely fine."

"How can you be sure?"

"Several other people nearby were also affected, but inhaled less of the gas. They have already recovered completely." Clint breathed a sigh of relief.

"Phil, how are you feeling?"

"Fine Clint, just fine." Phil's voice had a slightly sing-song quality to it, and his eyes weren't focusing properly, but apart from that he did seem to be OK.

"We've run every test we can think of, and nothing else shows up. There's really nothing to worry about. I understand you two, ah, live together?"

"Yeah."

"Well, if you like, you can take him home."

"That's great, um... there's nothing I need to do, or not do?"

"No, like I said, he's very suggestible, and er... unusually candid, but like with standard hypnosis, you won't be able to get him to do or say anything that goes against his nature, so you don't have to worry about that. 

"Um, OK. Phil, do you want to come home with me?"

"But, I haven't written my after-mission report yet!" Phil sounded plaintive.

"Agent Coulson, I'm putting you on medical leave until tomorrow. You should go home with Specialist Barton now."

"OK Doctor Sanchez," Phil said. He looked at Clint expectantly. Clint shot the doctor one last, slightly worried glance.

"He'll be fine. Just take him home. He'll be completely back to his usual self in a few hours."

"OK Doc, thanks. Thanks a lot. C'mon Phil, let's get you home."

Phil hopped obediently off the gurney and followed Clint out of medical.

Clint arranged for a car from SHIELD headquarters to their apartment (he was working really hard on trying to think of it as 'their' apartment, rather than 'Phil's apartment,' 'Phil's apartment that he happened to be living in,' or 'The apartment that he lived in with Phil'). The short car ride set Clint's nerves on edge, because Phil spent the entire trip commenting on everything they passed.

"That's such an ugly building... Look at the funny orange car... They should cut their lawn..." Not only did he feel bad for Phil that the driver was hearing him babble like this, but the calm assurances that Dr. Sanchez had given him in SHIELD medical were becoming less and less convincing. Part of him wanted to ask Phil to be quiet, knowing that Phil would stop talking, if he did, but Clint figured that would be taking advantage of the state Phil was in. Once at their apartment, however, things seemed better.

Phil took his shoes off at the door, and then headed over to the alarm panel and punched in the code, stripping off his tie and unbuttoning his collar as he stepped back, in the automatic way he always did. Watching Phil do these normal, completely Phil-like things reassured Clint immensely, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he took off his shoes and followed Phil into the room.

Phil turned and looked at him.

"I love you."

"I love you too." Clint was starting to get used to the idea that until this, whatever it was wore off, Phil was just going to say whatever was on his mind.

"I want to hug you."

"Sure, Phil." Phil stepped forward and wrapped Clint in a tight hug. 

"I love hugging you."

"Well, I love it when you hug me, Phil." Clint said, smiling into Phil's shoulder.

"Good. Let's have sex."

"Ummm... I don't think that's a very good idea right now."

"Why not?"

"Because..." Clint fished for a reasonable excuse and settled on the truth, "because you breathed a bunch of gas that came out of that weird guy's truck earlier today, and you're not acting normal. I would rather we wait until you're acting like yourself before we have sex."

"OK. I'm hungry," said Phil. 

Clint blinked. 

"Yeah, uh... me too. I'll order something. What do you want?"

"Ice cream," said Phil.

"You want ice cream for dinner." 

"Yes. I'm pretty sure we have some in the freezer. I'm going to go look."

"OK, Phil. Sure, why not? Let's have ice cream for dinner." Clint smiled. Maybe this wasn't going to be so bad after all. As the worry receded he felt warm and protective towards Phil. He wanted to wrap him up in a blanket and cuddle him. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea.

"Hey Phil, how about we eat our ice cream on the sofa and watch a movie or something?"

"OK. Here's your ice cream."

Phil came out of the kitchen and handed him a bowl. It had two scoops of chocolate ice cream and one scoop of strawberry. Phil's bowl had two scoops of strawberry and one of chocolate. Clint couldn't help but smile. 

Phil smiled back happily at him, and sat down on the sofa.

"Are you coming?"

"Yep, in just a minute, I just want to get something from the kitchen."

Clint went to the kitchen, wanting to check that Phil had put the ice cream containers back and closed the freezer. He had. 

'Quit worrying,' Clint told himself, 'He's fine, just like the doc said.' Clint cast about for something he could have come in for, and grabbed the roll of paper towels.

Phil nodded sagely when Clint put it on the coffee table next to his bowl of ice cream.

"What do you want to watch?"

"I dunno," Phil said, putting another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth.

"Well, we don't have to watch anything, I guess. We could just cuddle."

Phil's eyes lit up.

"I love cuddling with you, Clint. Cuddling with you is almost as good as sex."

Clint didn't have an answer for that, so he stuck another spoonful of ice cream in his mouth. Phil seemed content to finish eating in silence. 

'Dinner' finished, bowls stacked on the coffee table and mouths wiped with paper towel, Clint snagged the throw from the back of the sofa and pulled it over both of them. Phil sank into his arms with a sigh, and said,

"We should buy a house together."

"What?"

"We should buy a house together. I've been thinking about it for a while, but I didn't know how to tell you."

"But... we've only been living together for four months!"

"I know, and you still think of this as my apartment. I know you do. You take up as little space as possible and you try not to disturb any of my stuff." Phil was looking at him with earnest eyes, and Clint couldn't look away.

"I want you to have a home, Clint. I know you've never really had one, and that makes me sad. I try not to let you know that, because I know you don't like it, but it's true. I want us to buy a house. One that we chose together, moved in together, buy new furniture for together. I want us to have a home together. I want to give you that, Clint."

"I... I don't know what to say." Or what to think. He knew, logically and empirically, that Phil was just saying whatever was on his mind. He also knew, theoretically, that everything Phil was saying was true. But this was so big... so unexpected... so... everything.

"Say yes," Phil said, as if it was that simple.

"I... I'll think about it, OK?" Clint had no idea if Phil was even going to remember this conversation after the drugs wore off. He hadn't thought to ask the doctor about that.

"OK. Harry Potter."

"What?"

"I've decided what I want to watch. I fell asleep halfway through The Deathly Hallows last time I tried to watch it. Doctor Sanchez had sent me home that time too." Phil pouted. "But we could watch it from the beginning."

"Sure," said Clint, happy to have a diversion that didn't involve discussing major life decisions while his boyfriend was under the influence of drugs.

Phil was yawning by the time the movie ended, so Clint didn't have any trouble putting him to bed. He went out like a light, snoring very softly in the way that he only did when he was very, very tired. Clint lay back, and stared at the ceiling. Phil wanted them to buy a house together. That was... Clint didn't know what that was. Phil had said he wanted Clint to have a home. Besides the first time Phil ever said, "I love you", and the first (and only) time Nat ever said, "I trust you", that was possibly the best thing anyone had ever said to him. 

Phil probably wasn't going to remember any of this in the morning. But he'd said he'd wanted to talk to Clint about it for a long time. Maybe he should... mention something? Casually? How exactly to casually work, "Did you really mean it when you said we should buy a house together?" into tomorrow's breakfast conversation, he wasn't sure. 

Clint fell asleep thinking about high ceilings and curtained windows and hardwood floors and green lawns... all the things he'd seen in pictures, on TV, in movies, in other people's lives, and never thought he could have himself. Maybe... maybe...

~~~~~

The next day Phil groaned as soon as he opened his eyes. 

"Phil, are you OK?" Clint asked, concerned that Phil was having some sort of delayed bad reaction to the drugs he'd inhaled the day before.

"I feel like the fourth day of a three-day pass." Phil shut his eyes and put his hand over them. 

"Stay right there, I'll get you some Gatorade and aspirins. Do you want me to put coffee on?" Clint scrambled out of bed, and drew the shade on the bedroom window to cut out the light and headed for the kitchen.

"Yes please, and toast, too. I'm starving," He called though the apartment. Clint reappeared a couple of minutes later with a bottle of Gatorade and two aspirins. He handed them to Phil, whose stomach rumbled loudly as he took the pills and washed them down.

"When did I last eat - oh, right. The ice cream." Phil shook his head ruefully and gave Clint a crooked grin.

"You remember the ice cream?"

Phil looked at Clint and his face softened into a gentle expression.

"I remember all of it, Clint. And I meant what I said last night. Every word. I didn't mean to say it quite so soon, but I meant it. It's OK, though, if it's not something you want. If it's too soon, or too much..." Phil looked down.

"Phil," Clint sat back down on the edge of the bed, "you really meant it? About us buying a house together? You're not just saying that because you don't want to hurt my feelings?"

"I've never lied to you Clint, and I'm not about to start now. Especially not about this."

"Lets..." Clint took a deep breath and grabbed one of Phil's hands. "Let's do it."

"Really? You mean that?"

"Yeah. I do. Let's buy a house. Shit, I think your toast is burning." Clint jumped up and ran back to the kitchen. 

Phil drank more of his Gatorade and then leaned back and smiled. Sometimes getting drugged by mad scientists wasn't so bad after all...

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks always to my excellent editors t! and Shazrolane.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr at: [Queen of Wands](http://jmathieson-fic.tumblr.com/)


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